


The Secret Ingredient

by NothingTame



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingTame/pseuds/NothingTame
Summary: A baker in Skyhold causing trouble, with a secret that would baffle anyone but especially Commander Cullen.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 32





	The Secret Ingredient

When Sera, _Sera_ , remarks that the new baker makes the perfect cookie, Cullen doesn't really pay attention. He should have, but he didn't. So many refugees and volunteers, professionals and conscripts, it was hard to keep track of new faces and new names. He literally forgets about the offhanded comment until the Inquisitor brings up a special requisition on her behalf. 

"Sugar?" he says, blinking at her. He's almost certain he's misheard her, but she presents him with a list and there it is, at the top: 'sugar'. 

  
"And chocolate, flour, vanilla bean-" she begins, running her fingertip down the paper. 

"There's near twenty items on this list. Is this all for you?"

The laugh that erupts from her is part snort and part guffaw. "Maker, no!" she chortles. "I can't bake to save my life! No, it's for Sera." And here the freckle-faced red-head blushed prettily, rubbing the back of her neck in an all-too-familiar gesture. "She likes cookies, and she loves the cookies Arabeth makes the best." His blank expression must have given him away, because she looked at him like he'd grown another head. "Arabeth. Arabeth Verbeck. Seriously? The new baker? Everyone is raving about her! This list is for her, all the things she needs to cook me a massive batch with extras to spare. She's had to get creative because she's run out of traditional ingredients but Blessed Andraste she makes amazing things. She made these muffins with little dried berries that were so- Actually, I have a basket, one moment!"

She left him standing on her carpet while she ran to her balcony and the table set outside for tea, scooping up several scones and a few muffins into a cloth napkin, wrapping them carefully and bringing them to him. 

"Honestlly, coffee or black tea and these with a little butter... It's like... it's like..." Evelyn's eyes glazed over in an expression of euphoria that was almost obscene. "It's like the war doesn't exist, and all there is, is you and that muffin and your lady love sitting across you, and you've got nothing to worry about but the honey sticking to your hair and how you're going to confess your love without getting turned away..."

Cullen stared at her. Her expression still lost and dazed, he retrieved the list from her fingers and cleared his throat, watching as she blinked and focused once more. 

"I'll see what I can do," he managed gruffly, scuffling off with his arms full of paperwork and baked goods.

Later, in the privacy of his office, one scone into his precious pile and the name _Arabeth Verbeck_ is written in bold letters atop the list of ingredients he's been told to get. The muffins are tried. By dinner, there's nothing left of his appetite or of those delectable baked goods. Licking the crumbs from his fingers, he becomes quite thoughtful.

How had he never heard of this woman before now?

* * *

Arabeth was Sera’s favorite person to steal from.

Because cookies. 

She never used raisins, ever, and she added cinnamon to almost everything she made. Or she thought. In hindsight, it could be that the adorable, plump bit of baker knew that’s what Sera liked and put it on anything she left out. 

Actually, that made a fair bit of sense. 

And Sera would have been able to keep her and her delectable baking delights to herself if she hadn’t been bragging like an ass in the tavern.

It was a game of Wicked Grace, their usual night, all of them gathered and what not, and Sera for once was not drunk before the second hand was dealt. She was relying on cookies. 

Cookies she never shared with anyone but the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor was smart enough to keep her mouth shut, plus _muffins_. 

Sera? Sera was another matter when it came to being mouthy, especially five shots in. 

“-and she puts these little bits of chocolate in and it’s like, no one ever thought to do that, yeah? She’s a genius and the spices, oh chocolate and cookies and sp- HEY! Give it!” the little jenny squealed, flailing after the much taller Commander as Cullen completely stole a cookie from her carefully guarded pile. “That’s mine, that is, give it back!”

But it was too late, Cullen had taken a bite and savoring it slowly, ignoring the repeated whap-whap-whap of Sera’s indignant knuckles against his skull. After a moment, his eyes went wide, and then wider, and eventually he swallowed. 

“Maker’s breath. That’s… mmm. That’s not a cookie, that’s…” he struggled, before giving up and taking another bite. He groaned. “Oh wow-”

Dorian reached across the table and snatched another from Sera’s pile, dodging the elf’s blow as she squealed with fury (“You _bastard_ -”), snapping the cookie in half and then in quarters before passing them around to everyone. 

“Oh, I know who’s work this is-” said Bull, pausing to nibble (he was, surprisingly, a dainty eater of sweets). “This is that chubby bit of adorable in the kitchens, the one with the nutmeg skin and the pretty smile who sings all the time. Dorian, help me out… she’s the one who does that pie we shared that one-”

“Oh! Yes, that’s right! Well, I’ll be, I had no idea that was her. I may have to start commissioning her for mince pie-”

Blackwall grumbled something about apple pie, and Bull nodded in agreement. 

Varric was dusting crumbs out of his chest hair, having already inhaled his. “I need to ask if she’ll make fudge. I wonder if I can get a shipment of dark chocolate out here-”

“Chocolate….” sighed Cassandra. “You think she’d be any good at Nevarran truffles?”

At this point, Sera’s face was the color of a plum, and she was stumping up on to the table shaking with anger. “NO!” she shouted down at them all, hands closed to fists even as they all tried to hide their laughter, even Cole. “You can’t have her, she’s mine! You’re all thieves, the lot of you, and I’ll not have you take my cookies-”

“It’s your own fault,” laughed Trevelyan, unable to hide it any more. “You came in here bragging about our baker and now they all want a piece of the action.”

Cassandra snickered. “She’s right, you’ve only yourself to blame.”

With a final roar, Sera stomped down from the table, snatching her winnings and her mug clambered up the stairs to her room, swearing the whole way. 

Cullen, having had a whole cookie to himself, was contemplating the half he had left. He wrapped it carefully in a napkin and tucked it into his belt-pouch, making a mental note to talk to this baker soon.

“I saw that,” Trevelyan muttered at him, eyes sparkling playfully over her mug. 

He blinked at her owlishly. “Saw what?”

She laughed. “Our Commander has a sweet tooth! Did this start with the scones?”

Josephine, rejoining them after checking on Sera, sat with a giggle. “You have no idea. I gave him a taste of the Antivan jellies, he bartered half the box from me by the end of the day!”

Dorian burst out laughing. “Look! He’s blushing!”

* * *

Arabeth was only in Skyhold three moons and already, she had her hands full of trouble.

Sera still had her batch, free and discreet, a suggestion the Inquisitor’s ambassador was kind enough to give Arabeth after the incident at the tavern and before the tsunami of personal commissions came in. 

The cook, Tara Kyle, who had always considered the baker her personal best-kept secret, did not take kindly to the famous warriors now flooding her kitchen. All five feet of her, silvered auburn curls framing her wrinkled face as she wielded a large wooden cauldron spoon to brandish at the strangers in her kitchen.

“We don’t do charity, I don’t care how many ‘kills’ you’ve made this week or discoveries you’re responsible for or-” she let loose with a howl that very next morning after the now infamous game of Wicked Grace. “Unless you can bring us supplies or coin for supplies I won’t… we can’t… I…. oh my.”

A wagon of supplies was being brought to the bottom of the stairs. Cured meats, canned fruits, fresh ingredients, and, tucked back in a large basket, ingredients for baking at its finest. 

While Dorian, Varric, Bull, Blackwall, even Cassandra, were hustled out of the kitchen, it was the personal page of Commander Cullen himself that stood by the wagon. She cleared her throat, the elf trying not to fidget, holding out the manifest for the cook to take. She tried not to cower beneath the stares of so many intimidating people (the cook!) as she lifted her chin. 

“C-compliments of the Commander, Mistress Kyle,” she said as the cook took the papers. “A gift for your incredible work in times as tough as we had, and he hopes all of this will reassure you that those t-times are behind us. He also said he might have a request in the future, one or two, and hopes this will pave the way for such future endeavors.”

The elf gave a salute, turned on her heel, and bolted. 

Silence in the courtyard as Mrs. Kyle flipped through the inventory list. “...ham, chives, garlic, a whole bushel of cherries- Where did he get this stuff?” she hissed under her breath, appraising the wagon again with wide eyes. After a tic, she whirled about to glare at the hovering mess of warriors about her.

“Right! If you want your special treats and doo-das, get yourself to work and make those strong burly arms useful! Get these supplies in my kitchen and afterward, if I’m satisfied, I’ll have you leave a list of your requests and see what we can do with what we’ve got. Understood?” she barked, arms crossing over her chest. “And BULL.” The horned warrior stopped at the bottom of her steps, putting him at eye level to her. She jabbed a finger towards his face. “There will be no pinching of any bottoms, or the deal is off.”

Peering out from behind the pantry door, Arabeth smothered a giggle with her hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me. Writing brain-muffins.


End file.
